“No. And you didn’t bring me to be safe.”
I called on my magic once more, ensuring that I was making the right choice.
Bring me to what we need.
My threads burst from me, as if they were relieved to have somewhere to go. I followed them, walking forward through the door and into another antechamber, a small room no bigger than my bedroom at home in Astola.
In the center was a small stone table, with a box on top of it. It was locked, the same keyhole as the entryway of the temple. I placed my hand on the box and felt something ripple under my skin.
Inside was the crown of the ancient peris’ queen, who had had the ability to create magic. And I was about to take it.
I threaded my magic through the keyhole, feeling it resist with a lurch. There was more than metal in this lock, but magic too. I tried again and again, pushing against the lock, my magic flooding the keyhole.
But nothing.
“There’s a lock!” I shouted back to Kiyan. “I can’t open it.”
“I’ve got something,” he called back.
I ran back to him, and he shuddered as he lifted his necklace to reveal a key and a small golden ring.
He pulled the key off the chain and handed it to me, replacing the chain and ring back around his neck.
I held it in my hand for a moment, examining the gleaming gold key that didn’t look ancient but brand-new. The bow of the key resembled a sharp jasmine flower, like flames coming out of the top.
“Where did you get this from?”
He grimaced and gripped his stomach, groaning. “Is that really pertinent information right now? I swear, woman, you’d question me about fae relics while I was at death’s door.”
“Youareat death’s door.”
He blinked up at me. “Open that fucking box or I’ll become a ghoul and haunt you to insanity. I’ll give you endless puzzles that can never be solved.”
I shuddered. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
I huffed a breath.
He was right; did it matter how he got it, as long as it worked?
I ran back to the box with the key. It looked the right shape and matched the other symbols around the vault. I slid it into the keyhole, and it fit neatly.
I held my breath as I turned it.
The lock clicked open.
“It opened!” I shouted, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. It was starting to sink in what this meant, what I had done.
My mother had left me to find this relic, and my whole life I’d wanted to know what happened to her, toit.
And now I was here.
And she wasn’t.
I closed my eyes, a memory of her singing me softly to sleep, one of the many Astolan folk songs she collected washing over me. I could still feel the thread of her fingers in my hair as she massaged my scalp, the lightness of her singing voice as it sang about everything we had lost.
Being here was bittersweet, because this was what my mother had wanted for us. What she had died to get.
